


sing of love if it does not exist

by tomato_greens



Series: Listen, Listen - music ficlets [9]
Category: Macdonald Hall - Gordon Korman
Genre: Homophobic Language, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-07
Updated: 2012-03-07
Packaged: 2017-11-01 14:51:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/358074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomato_greens/pseuds/tomato_greens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruno is washing the dishes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sing of love if it does not exist

**Author's Note:**

> Written while listening to [The Only Exception](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-J7J_IWUhls) by Paramore. A tiny timestamp to [A Brand New Box of Matches](http://archiveofourown.org/works/345559).

Bruno is washing the dishes. It's his favorite of his least favorite activities––the warmth of the water, the methodical rhythm of the sponge, the way his fingertips wrinkle, 

The door creaks open and then shut. Boots is breathing hard from the run up the stairs. Bruno feels each cool puff on the back of his neck. 

"Hi," he says, using a nail to scrape at something encrusted on the rim of the last dish––tomato sauce, he thinks, but he can't be entirely sure. "How was school?"

Bruno can feel the movement of Boots's shrug, suspended in the space between them. "Normal." They pause; Bruno is acutely aware of the empty spaces on his hips where Boots's hands would usually be by now. He wishes Boots would just put them there already, then hopes he doesn't. He wishes his wishes could be consistent for five consecutive seconds. "Had to stay late to talk with Nick Saunders."

"Oh," says Bruno. Then: "Nick Saunders?"

Boots sighs, and it ruffles Bruno's hair, fond. "That kid who freaked out at me last week."

"Right," says Bruno, feeling stupid; Nick Saunders is the reason the air between them is so tense, the reason Bruno has pendulated wildly between being furious and self-conscious for the past eight days. "So what'd he have to say for himself?"

Boots leans forward, his hands cupping Bruno's ribs without actually touching him––just the barest tickle of Bruno's undershirt and the familiar shadow of Boots's forearms to let him know Boots is even there. "He was sorry."

Bruno shoves three cups onto the rack and accidentally splatters water all over the front of his shirt, but Boots doesn't back away; Bruno closes his eyes and shuts off the faucet before he can spill anything else. "Good of him."

"Come on, don't be like that," Boots murmurs. Bruno feels himself calming down without even meaning to, under a spell, under Boots's thrall, like he always will be. "He's seventeen years old and scared––he just panicked."

"What does he have to be scared of?" Bruno asks, though of course he knows, because he was a seventeen-year-old once and what else could it mean? But he has to ask.

Boots takes a few minutes to answer, like he's really thinking about it. "I think he wanted his bases covered, you know?" he says finally. "Like, he thought maybe I'd, I don't know, break his cover or something."

"What, by existing?" Bruno rolls his eyes reflexively even though Boots can only see the back of his head. "His _fag_ teacher guessed his dirty little secret, now he's got to––"

"Don't," Boots says gently, sliding his arms around Bruno and stepping in close so they're practically cheek to cheek, Boots's nose fitting easily into the groove under Bruno's cheekbone. Bruno's spine is probably digging into Boots but he doesn't seem to mind. "It's nothing."

"It's not nothing," Bruno insists, but he's getting awfully tired of fighting this fight, and maybe by now to Boots it _is_ nothing. 

"It is," Boots says. "Look, sweetheart, he's a dumb kid in a difficult situation who lashed out at someone who frightened him. That's all. It's not anything. We talked it out and he apologized and I'm not about to freak out on you just because he freaked out at me, okay?"

"You called me sweetheart," says Bruno, instead of, _You called me out_.

"I did," Boots agrees. "I'll do it again, sweetheart. Pumpkin. Darling. Sugar bear."

Bruno snorts weakly. "Sugar bear?"

"Sugar bear," Boots repeats solemnly. "I learned from the best, you know."

"You learned from me," Bruno retorts. 

"Eh," Boots says easily, "the best," which makes Bruno's heart squeeze dangerously from behind his lungs. Boots shuffles backwards, still tangled around Bruno, bringing him along by necessity. "Come watch TV with me."

"But the dishes," Bruno says, reaching one hand out for the sink.

Boots captures it and then brings it back to kiss it. "The dishes will keep, but My Little Pony will not."

"Oh Christ," Bruno groans, and lets himself be drawn away.


End file.
